In Which the TARDIS teaches the Doctor to appreciate snow
by That Octopus
Summary: The Tenth Doctor has had some pretty bad experiences with snow. But now that he's regenerated, the TARDIS is determined to show him the value in the stuff. Oneshot written for the Secret Santa Challenge.


This one is for 10Blue10 for secret santa challenge. Thanks for being so supportive of my writing!

Sorry this is kind of late. I'm rather rubbish at deadlines, and then christmas happened.

When I thought christmasy story, this happened in my mind. I've always figured that after all 10 has been through, he's really got no reason to like snow whatsoever. But 11 adores it in A Christmas Carol and the Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe. Did his regeneration make him forget that easily? Well...

Happy winter solstice affiliated holiday, you all!

P.S. I'm just playing with these guys! They're not mine!

~Octy

P.S. This is my second try posting this, since the first one didn't seem to work for whatever reason. In case you wanted to know

**In Which the TARDIS Teaches the Doctor to Appreciate Snow**

"I'm dreaming of a snowless christmas," the Doctor sang morosely, and quite off-key. "Just like the ones I've never known. When there are no things exploding, and I'm not alone-ing, and there aren't any ood!"

He spun languidly around the console, flipping switches and twisting knobs, his voice carrying over the scratchy recording that the TARDIS had picked up from an Earth radio station somewhen. "This is bad music, Sexy," he muttered to his time machine when he was done singing. "Bad bad music. Snow is not cool. Well, okay, _technically _it maybe sorta kinda is. But not really. Not bowtie-cool. Nope nope nope." He slid down to the floor, where he continued his moping.

"Amelia Pond wants to go christmas shopping all on her lonesome," he groused. "Well Merry Christmas Amelia Pond! Merry Christmas Doctor!"

The TARDIS hummed and blinked concernedly, and hastened her journey through the Space-Time Vortex to get when she was going. She manipulated a lever to flip downwards, hitting her Thief on the head.

"Hey!" The Time Lord shouted, rubbing a hand through his hair. "What was that for?" He paused, listening. "What do you mean, I'm "out of sorts"? I am _not _out of sorts. I am perfectly in sorts, and it's the rest of the universe that's out of them." He straightened his cool bowtie and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the wall.

After a long, worried pause, the TARDIS hit him again.

"Now don't be like that, Sexy," he said. "I just seem to have run out of... everything." He sighed. "Do you realize that every person I've ever had christmas dinner with is gone? Well, probably all of them? Except for you, of course, but everyone else?"

The TARDIS hummed in understanding.

"Exactly, and on top of that there's your incredibly abysmal choice of holiday tunes!" He smacked the radio, which abruptly turned off with "may your days be merry and-" and the time machine shook irritably.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, trying to placate the TARDIS. "But it's just... _snow!_" Sensing that an explanation was needed, he provided one. "Last regeneration had it really bad with snow," he explained. "First it was ash, which was nice at the time except for the fact that it was basically death falling on us. Then I, well, you made it snow and we scared Donna Noble away. _Then _there was snow... when I saw the ood." He shuddered. "And I went and died. Turned out all right, you know, but still. And even the Oodsphere was covered with all that freezing sickly white stuff! It's, well, it's like a bad omen, like an evil portent, like... a bad bad thing."

His grumping was interrupted when the TARDIS jolted to a stop. The doors flung open to usher in a veritable blizzard. Snow billowed around the console room and got caught in the Doctor's hair, and speckled his cool bowtie with white flecks. "No no no no no!" the Doctor cried, waving his hands in all directions as though that would somehow be effective. "Sexy, were you even _listening?_ I said no snow! No no no!" But his temper tantrum didn't work against his time machine. She just sort of tilted the floors and let the wind (and his curiosity) lead him outside.

It was, to be quite honest, a Winter Wonderland. White powdery snow covered candy-cane poles and evergreen trees (well, what passed for evergreens; these were actually naturally purple, and kind of squarish, but they served the purpose), and a beautiful night sky filled with stars and planets and comets was visible over the giant hill.

Yes, there was a giant hill.

The Doctor took all the scenery in, but the magnificent slope was by far the most intriguing thing about the area. Well, except for that tribble, which was adorable and out of place- no wait it was made of snow. Oh well. The hill, though, looked ominous and possibly dangerous, maybe it was a sleeping dragon. Ooh, that would be interesting. And dangerous. And possibly...

The Doctor turned to look at his ship. Her doors were closed and locked. "Oh, well _thank you _for being so sympathetic," the Doctor grumped. Then he looked back at the world.

Time to go exploring, snow or not.

To be perfectly honest, the Doctor was a bit pleased to have a distraction, even if he had just been ranting about its many negative connotations. For the first five minutes he actually considered frolicking, but then he realized a terrible problem, and another reason why he didn't like snow.

It was very damp, very cold, and the ice started creeping up his pants legs and making the rest of him very cold indeed. Cold cold cold. Cold! He considered going back to the TARDIS, but he highly suspected that she wouldn't let him in. So he continued tromping through the too-cold-to-be-cool wetness.

When he got to the top of the hill, he was shivering, and probably turning blue, but at least he met a snowman. A snowman! An honest-to-goodness snowman, named Fred, who waved at him with a stick and said "I say! A fleshman!"

"Yes, yes, I believe I am," the Doctor said. "Probably, anyway, depending on your definition of flesh."

"Well, fleshman," Fred said proudly, "I take it that you've come here today to frolic, I say have a wonderful time, and, well, that's just what we need."

"What you need?" the Doctor scratched his head. "I might have missed something but that might have been Sexy messing with the translator again. I _thought _you were implying that you all... everyone needs me to have a good time."

"Yes, that is exactly what I said," Fred harumphed.

"Oh, well you've got it all wrong," the Doctor said. "All wrong. You see, fun is a thing that's supposed to happen and then goes wrong because I'm needed to do something else, like save a planet. Or diplomacy, but I'm usually rubbish at that. Or run. Running's good too."

"Will you shut up!" Fred snapped. "You seem not to gather our predicament. Look at the people around you!"

The Doctor looked, and saw a few more snow-people trudging around. The trees might also have been sentient, and... He took out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the area, frowning at the readings. "Well this can't be right," he muttered. "This can't be right at all! It says that you folks actually _feed _off of other peoples' enjoyment, somehow! You literally eat fun, or something like that."

"Exactly," Fred said. "But as you can see... no tourists. It's the solstice, the longest night and the shortest day, and all the fleshmen are staying safely indoors where we cannot feed off them."

"So you're asking me to have fun, in this confounded icy wetness of bleah, is that it?" the Doctor said, staring very very intently at the white-on-white face in front of him.

"Well you are here, I do say."

"Yes, I suppose you do," the Doctor replied vaguely. "It's just... it's just snow..."

"Yes, it is a lovely substance to be made of," Fred said peacefully.

Now even the Doctor's horrible etiquette sense (and common sense) could tell that insulting the very substance of his new friend would be considered rude in almost every conceivable culture. So he said "well I'll... I'll certainly _try_."

"If you are having difficulties," the snowman suggested, "may I offer you this sled?" His twiggy arms gestured at a rather rickety contraption propped at the top of the hill. "There are very few people who can resist the adrenaline rush," he added helpfully.

The Doctor stared at the sled with a grim sense of duty, and ceremoniously straightened his bowtie. "If I must," he said, ever the martyr. Internally, however, he was absolutely certain he was not going to like it.

The sled was rough, and very nearly embedded splinters of itself in the Doctor's hands. He glared at it, but gingerly seated himself on the rather deflated and soggy cushion. Using his heels to drag himself towards the edge of the rope, he stared down the incline. Well, why not?

"GERONIMO!"

White spray in his face, really really _cold _air chilling him to the bone, and several near wipeouts all hindered the sled's journey down. The Doctor whooped into the air despite himself, after all, this wasn't snow, this was a sled, and sleds were undoubtedly cool. Just because they needed snow to work didn't make them any less cool.

The ride skidded to a stop mere inches from the TARDIS, and the Doctor tumbled out into the icy slush, laughing maniacally. He looked up at his ship, his hair sticking out at odd angles and his bangs covering most of his face. "Whooooeeeee!" was his only comment on the subject.

The TARDIS doors clicked open, bathing the time lord in a warm, yellow glow. The message was simple: had enough?

The Doctor looked from indoors to outdoors, where there seemed to be a snowman party going on, and golden sparkles (solid fun) were tracking his progress down the hill. It was sort of cold, sure, but, but, but...

"I'll be back in a minute," the Doctor said. He wasn't admitting anything, but he started scrambling back up the hill, arms flailing. Seconds later he was back, muttering "need the sled, need it, won't be long," and then he was gone again. Then he was back, saying "actually maybe more than a minute." Gone. Back. "They need sustenance, you know." And then he was actually gone.

The TARDIS, rather smugly, turned the radio back on.

_"And may all your Christmases be white."_


End file.
